Escaping Oblivion
by Halfcent
Summary: The pack is in shambles after the deaths of Allison and Aiden. Instead of reveling in Stiles freedom they are reeling with the losses. When Scott re-emerges from his own hiatus from life, can he pull them back together or is the damage irreparable? Is it possible to fully recover from the damage left behind? Follows 3b. Includes majority of characters.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with Teen Wolf or it's creators or affiliates, and I make no money from writing for pleasure.**

**Prologue**

Scott's eyes opened slowly, reluctantly. A glance toward the morning sun peeking through the slit in his bedroom curtains felt too bright. Scott wished it would fill him with the same hope it used to. Either that or just go away. There was no room for in-between.

Instead, he waited.

It took only seconds for awareness of his new reality to crush itself heavily into his chest and he sighed in resignation.

"It's still true," he muttered, letting his head fall back into his pillow and staring up at the ceiling.

Scott had repeated this same ritual morning after morning for the past 8 days. Once the Nogitsune was defeated and his best friend's freedom had been won, there had been little to think about other than their losses. Their losses, their guilt, their various maladies of grief that had shattered what all of them had come to think of as their pack. His friends, all suffering.

Two of them dead.

The services for their fallen friends - one a hunting warrior, the other bad boy turned good, both fighting for the same cause – should have signaled finality.

The final nails in the coffins, so to speak.

_I'm getting morbid,_ Scott thought to himself with indifference when that analogy crossed his mind.

That finality was supposed to mean they were supposed to get on with their lives. Begin to leave the rest behind them as they moved on.

There was no moving on. Scott was stuck in his own private hell, a limbo of nightmares. He didn't care to move on. Not right now. He was pretty sure the rest of the pack, his friends, were in similar states. It wasn't that he didn't care, really; it was that anything but the guilt and the loss was felt at a distance, something he had to work at to reach, push through the painful things to consider that there was more going on outside of his heart that he should be aware of.

Every day, ever night, Scott went to bed eager for the oblivion of sleep, anxious for whatever numbness the quiet and the dark can bring when he slipped into the grayness of slumber. Sleep had become his sanctuary, awareness had become his hell. Every time he begged inwardly for sleep, Scott closed his eyes and prayed that the next day's morning light would reveal that it had all been a horrible nightmare.

It never did.

It was still true.


	2. Chapter 2

** Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or anything associated and I make no money from writing about it for entertainment.**

Morning number nine came with a rude awakening, the first time Scott's routine was changed. Rather, the first time the routine was changed for him. His cocoon, the thick comforter that had become his favorite hiding spot, was snatched away, leaving him open to the stale air of his bedroom. He heard his blankets tossed to the floor. Scott didn't open his eyes, simply sighing in resignation. He'd known this would come eventually. He tried half-heartedly to rally some anger, some indignation. Even irriation would be nice, but it seemed he'd been practicing too hard at not feeling because now the numbness wouldn't make room for anything else.

Moments later he heard the harsh scraping of his bedroom curtains being drawn aside briskly, immediately followed by the most light Scott had been subjected to in over a week. His eyes squeezed tighter involuntarily as the bright mid-morning sunlight reached for every corner of the bedroom, he hissed in annoyance as the light fell across his prone form and tore at his light-sensitive eyes through his eyelids. He didn't want to remember there was a world out there and he was tired of pinning his hopes on the morning sun.

Scott's nose told him who was in the room with him, even over his own unwashed scent. He knew who his offender was and it was the only person he couldn't say no to. He threw an arm over his pained eyes but otherwise remained still and silent. He did not need to see his mother to know her irritated stance, the look of determination on her face. He'd had almost 17 years to learn and memorize these things about her and his memory did not fail him now.

"Get up," Melissa demanded, and Scott winced. He'd never been able to refuse her in the end; it wasn't like him to try and it wasn't like her to allow it. _Some things are more worth fighting for_, he mused dispassionately. All he had to do was find the energy to do so.

"I'm tired," Scott rasped. The sound of his own voice startled him. It was low and rough, and he tried to remember the last time he'd spoken more than a word or two. A week? At least. He'd hidden in his room almost entirely since the services for Allison and Aiden. He'd accepted the meals his mom brought to him when he felt like bothering to eat, but it had been days since he'd said more than 'thank you' or 'I'm fine'. He'd neither seen nor spoken to any of his friends, including Isaac, who's bedroom was on the other side of his wall. His mother had been the only occasional intruder.

"No you're not," Melissa replied sternly. "If anything, you've slept too much. It's time to get up."

Scott cleared his throat, hoping to smooth his underused voice. "Mom-"

"Get. Up. Take a shower. Then come to breakfast."

Silence. Scott listened intently, refusing to open his eyes, and the silence became almost awkward when he realized she was standing there, still and quiet. Her heartbeats were steady, her breaths for a reply? Waiting for him to drag himself out of bed? Waiting for him to beg for one more day? He didn't know what his mom was waiting for but he knew she'd be staring a hole into him. She had the werewithal to wait him out, if not the patience to do it gracefully. He knew her well enough for that, and just knowing so was enough to let it get to him. He didn't have to see it. A small sigh escaped him, and whatever it was Melissa had been waiting for, she accepted that in it's place.

"Half an hour," she warned. "If you're not down there then, I'm coming back up." With that, she stepped out of the room and shut the door firmly.

Scott knew his time of hiding was over. Now all he had to do was muster the courage and the strength to face the world.

Scott descended the stairs carefully, slowly. It had taken him fifteen minutes to force himself upright, another five to get to his feet. His motivation was almost non existent, but as much as he didn't want to be up and moving around, he wanted even less to deal with whatever battle would ensue when his mom returned to find him still in bed. He had no doubt that she _would_ return, as promised, and his lack of strength would result in his complete annihilation under Melissa's forceful energy. He knew that he'd give in to her demands eventually; what else could he do, sleep forever? He might as well make his inevitable reemergence as painless as possible.

It was actually more along the lines of forty five minutes before Scott managed to emerge from the shower, shave, dress and head downstairs. He wondered if he was supposed to feel refreshed for all the effort of becoming presentable. Instead, the effort it had taken almost alarmed him. However, he noticed right away that his bed was made; it was neatly arrayed with a different comforter and the fragrance suggested there were fresh sheets. The window was open and a fresh breeze billowed the curtains and had begun blowing away the stale air and depressed stench. His mom had obviously come up to roust him and been satisfied that he was doing as demanded, regardless of how long it took him, and then busied herself with freshening his room. Scott wondered if the freshened room would later help him resist the desire to reverse the process and ostrich himself away again.

The sunshine and gentle breeze lit a longing inside Scott. A longing for something to feel good again. To go for a long bike ride under the sun or a long run through the preserve with the woodsy scents all around. Something to lose himself in besides numbness. Something to look forward to besides sorrow.

That was the first optimistic idea Scott had entertained for days. The first thought he'd allowed in his head that didn't involve curling back up under his comforter to escape feeling. Maybe the shower had helped more than he'd thought.

His mom was ready for him, already seated at the kitchen table. She had eggs, bacon and buttered toast on a plate in front of her but her hands were not holding a fork; they were folded in front of her tensely, resting on the table. Her knuckles were white. The only sign that she'd partaken of anything was the half empty mug of coffee. A matching breakfast was waiting in Scott's usual place. Before sitting down, he retrieved the coffee pot from the warmer and refilled his his mom's mug, receiving a tight smile in return. Neither spoke until Scott had seated himself in the hard kitchen chair, placed his hands flat on the table and looked at her. Neither spoke for half a minute.

"Did you work last night?" Scott finally asked softly, partly because he was at a loss for anything more meaningful. She looked tired, worn. A glance at the kitchen clock proved it to be after ten AM. If his mom had worked the night before, she should have been in bed by then.

It struck him with a stab of guilt that he had no idea of the work schedule his mom had kept in the past week. If not for the daily plates of food she'd been quietly setting inside his room, and later retrieving, she could have ceased to exist and he'd have hardly realized. Many of those times he had been unaware she'd been in until he woke just enough to detect her somewhat fresh scent or decide if eating the delivered meal was worth the energy expended. Sometimes it was, but most times it wasn't, and he realized now, with a jolt, that he was starving. He shoveled in two bites, barely chewing, before she answered his question.

"No, I took off a couple days."

Scott's hand, holding the fork, paused mid-way to his mouth. "Why? Are you okay?"

Melissa's brow furrowed and she leveled him with her eyes. "I'm fine. You're not."

Again bolt of guilt stabbing at him. _He'd_ done this to her; he'd exhausted her, put those dark circles under her eyes, caused her to take days off of work that they couldn't afford.

_Of course it was you_, Scott criticized himself harshly. _Who else? _While he'd been sleeping his pain into hiding, sleeping enough for ten people, she'd probably held sleepless night after sleepless night worrying about him. More guilt. A river of guilt. Scott realized that he needed to begin facing up to some things before the river turned into an ocean and drowned him. Some things he might never reconcile with himself and his role in it -

_ (Two dead)_

-but some things were within his power.

"I'm sorry, mom," he said softly, earnestly. _Don'tcry don'tcry don'tcry._ "I'm so sorry."

Melissa shook her head sympathetically, or maybe because she didn't want him to take on more guilt than any one person should be expected to shoulder.

"No," was all she said. "No." They met in the middle, she reaching for him, he falling toward her and her strong arms, the arms that only a mother has. As Scott had done immediately after the deaths of his friends, he cried. He did not cry to his mother, nor did he cry on her; he cried with her. She held him and she did her best, in soft murmurings, to alleviate the guilt she knew he'd taken upon him that had no place there; he needed the space inside to handle that which was truly his to deal with and anything extra would only get in the way.

When Scott finally sat up, it was he who had to disentangle from her, loosen her grip and remind her to let him go. They looked at each other, mother and son, both unashamed of their tears. Melissa wiped her face, cleared her eyes.

"Okay?" she asked. Her voice still held a trace of emotional waver.

"Yeah," he answered, "Better." He was surprised to realize it was marginally true. Something that he had come into the room with was gone now and Scott realized that he'd already known, deep down, how his recent withdrawal from life must have been affecting his mother. He had just been too selfish to care, or to give it any thought, in his efforts to hide from grief.

"Good," Melissa smiled weakly. Then she took a deep breath, a sip from her coffee, and smiled again. A stronger smile, a determined smile. "Eat up, you must be hungry."

Scott nodded affirmatively, already eating. He took a sip of his own coffee, cool now, and looked up at her. "What day is it?" Trying for mundane, trying for routine, and grateful that he and his mother had the kind of relationship that didn't always require putting things into words to be worked out. The release of tears had been cathartic and being forced to talk about things too big for words might have reversed the affect.

"Saturday," she answered. "School on Monday."

There was no hesitation in the statement, no confusion that it was not meant as a passing comment. Scott froze for a quick second, then recovered and continued eating. He stared at his plate, the diminishing breakfast seemingly requiring his strictest attention.

School. He hadn't even thought that far ahead; he had not even realized it was not a day he'd normally be at school but the idea was so far from his thoughts that it was almost foreign. Could he go back to school? After all that had happened? It seemed unbelievable that he could return to a normal life of school, lacrosse, homework and grades. He had been struggling for a balance since he'd been bitten, grasping at keeping a sense of normal amidst his newly abnormal life. But now...now things had happened to make simple, normal things like school seem inconsequential. Scott wasn't sure his life had room to handle both sides of his reality.

Scott did not try to explain these things. A glance at Melissa's resolute countenance convinced him that putting school off any longer was not going to be an option.

When he didn't respond she spoke again. "You have the weekend to get used to the idea, sweetie," she said softly, and he realized she understood how he might be feeling. "You need to be up and moving. You'll feel more normal by Monday. Just wait and see."

Scott didn't know if she was offering him a promise or a hope, but his idea of normal had changed a long time ago, and now it seemed to be changing all over again.

Instead of responding to that, he asked "What am I supposed to do until then?" The idea of wandering around the house for an entire weekend, just whiling away the hours until Monday, when he'd have to face the real world again, the normal world, was incomprehensible. None of the things he'd have spent a weekend doing before now even crossed his mind. It was too huge to imagine. Only nine days, and Scott felt as if he'd almost forgotten how to live.

"For starters, maybe you should call your boss," Melissa suggested. She stared at Scott and slowly, absently, rotated her coffee mug on the table. _Around and around and around._

"Dr. Deaton?" Scott looked up sharply, feeling a surge of...something...that he hadn't felt in days. Lately, Deaton's presence had come to mean that they were dealing with a crisis more than anything else. "Is something wrong?"

Had the Nogitsune returned somehow? Was something wrong with Stiles? With the pack? Some new threat to Beacon Hills? Scott realized for the first time, with an acidic panic, that while he'd been wallowing, afraid to face his grief and loss, he'd made for an absentee Alpha, a neglectful protector. If there was one thing he'd learned in his relatively short time as a werewolf, it was that nine days could be a lifetime when there was a threat.

"No, no, honey," Melissa was quick to reassure him, realizing that he must be thinking the worst; Scott wondered what his mother must think about him being an Alpha, the responsibility that neither of them fully realized yet, only some of which he'd experienced. "But you haven't been to work in days," she reminded him. "He's worried. He's been calling. Derek Hale has been calling, too."

Scott frowned. "I haven't gotten any calls." Had he? Would he have realized it? Or even cared?

"Your phone's been dead for five days, sweetie," Melissa said gently, as if afraid of what the revelation might do to him.

"Five days?" Try as he might, Scott could not recall receiving a single phone call. Or, for that matter, bothering to plug his phone in. He nodded his head in realization of how far down he'd let himself sink. Five days was probably about right, if he hadn't bothered to charge his phone.

Scott took a deep breath, a calming breath. He was beginning to care about things too fast after his hiatus. So fast that it was nearly overpowering. The way the adrenaline rushed through him, changed his focus to things that mattered, was heady. He felt lightheaded with it.

The fact that she knew how long his phone has been dead suggested to Scott that his mom had done more on her visits to his room than just meal service. She'd observed, it seemed, probably seen signs she felt were more need for worry. He was filled with remorse for putting her through that. That was something to think about later.

"Were they the only ones who called?" Scott asked sharply, frowning at Melissa's nod. He was worried about the implications of what that might mean. He'd been out of commission for nine days, at least five of those with a dead phone at his bedside, and the only two people to have attempted to reach him were Derek and Deaton? Scott wasn't sure whether to be distressed or offended, but worry won out. That wasn't like most of his friends, and if anything Stiles, at least, would have been pounding his door in or physically dragging him from bed by his feet.

_Except that they are dealing with the same heartache that almost shoveled me under_, Scott realized. It hit him like a blow to the gut to realize that he'd been selfish, so selfish. His friends, his pack, were suffering, too. They were in pain; as much as he was, in some cases maybe more. Isaac had lost his girlfriend. Ethan had lost his brother. Lydia her best friend and boyfriend, a double blow, and Chris had lost his daughter.

Scott was no longer tired. His back straightened and his eyes sharpened. His vision went red for a moment and Melissa gasped at her son's Alpha gaze, not in fear but in awe at the sight. She had yet to see his Alpha red eyes, Scott realized, but there was no time to worry about that now. He was filled with purpose, an almost overwhelming sense of a duty to perform. He felt manic.. Things were wrong and he had to set them right. That was the awareness that pervaded him; he was the Alpha and his pack was in a shambles. Only he could fix that.

He didn't feel fully renewed, not yet. He still felt like his entire heart, his entire chest, his entire soul was bruised. He couldn't think about Allison without introducing things to his mind that he didn't want to focus on; he couldn't wish that he'd been able to say a couple of last words to Aiden without stabs of guilt. But now had work to do and it seemed that that was what the Alpha inside of him was waiting for.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or anything recognizable from the show.**

Being out in the fresh air and sunshine was as renewing as Scott had hoped it might be. Had he not struck a safety agreement with his mom back when he'd first purchased his motorcycle he'd have disregarded his helmet. That would have resulted in a permanently stationary bike, however. Rather than feeling wistful, Scott took comfort in the fact that even with the heavy responsibilities that now lay on his Alpha shoulders, he had some of the limits of a teenager. Maybe it was true, he mused, that no guy ever stopped needing his mom. It kept him grounded, knowing she would help keep things in perspective for him. She couldn't do anything other; Scott's life had changed but that didn't mean his mother planned to let go of him completely. Some things about his life went beyond the scope of normal for a young man of his age, and because of that he needed a grip on ordinary even more-so.

He roared down the two lane highway, paying only minimal attention to his surroundings. He was just enjoying being out and moving. It felt like it had been forever. The purring motor bike was a backdrop to Scott's racing thoughts. He had a sense of what needed doing but no real scope on how to accomplish it. Two people who might have better advice than he had for himself came to mind; one who might offer advice based upon brief experience, the other with wisdom of things beyond Scott's imagining.

He would have to talk to Derek and Deaton, but he had something else to do first. If it wasn't too late. Without any real plan and barely realizing how far he'd traveled, Scott had been heading out of town. Taking notice of his surroundings, Scott saw thick stands of trees bordering the quiet highway and smiled in pleasure. The lengthy ride had renewed him, but now he thought a hard run would be just the thing to work off a new restlessness that he felt itching just beneath his skin. Scott slowed the bike, only just then aware that he'd been going far above the posted speed limit. His need for more speed, more power, seemed to be instinctual and trying to manifest in whatever way possible.

Scott braked on the narrow shoulder, then coasted the bike into the bordering foliage. He had no intention of leaving it on the side of the highway unattended. With his bike satisfactorily camouflaged, Scott stepped back and took in his surroundings more fully. Everything about the woodsy forest ignited the more primal part of Scott, the thing inside that was more wolf than human. He stilled with a predator's grace and took in the sounds, the scents, the way the light played through the thick trees overhead and dappled the shadows; the gentle wind stirred the hair over his forehead. Without mentally making the decision, Scott's body acted of it's own accord. One moment he standing quietly, taking it all in, exhilarating his senses with the surroundings. The next moment he was pounding through the foliage, leaving stirring leaves in his wake as he leaped and dodged any obstacle in his path. Trees were a blur. What had been a gentle breeze was now a hard wind against his face. Faster than any human without the wolf inside could possible move, Scott ran.

Scott pushed himself harder than ever before, his shoes hammering into the dirt and leaves, arms and legs pistons of power, his muscles reacting as coiled springs pulled tight. His heart pounded, his breathing began to rasp, the sweat flew from his skin, moistening the forest floor behind him, his powerful form already several strides away before they landed. There was no sense of time, there was only _now, _and his definition of now changed with each stride. The only thing that mattered was forward momentum. When he began to feel that he had to stop, was beginning to tire, he pushed himself harder and faster and soon the wind in his face was drying tears as well as sweat. The rasping breaths choked out in sobs that he scarcely had the oxygen for. Courting disaster, Scott began to veer from the trees in his path with only hundredths of an inch to spare, letting them loom closer and closer until the last possible moment. Skirting them so closely that he brushed bark, brushed it at such a fast speed that the bits were like tiny explosions from the rough trunks. He evaded only those overhanging limbs large enough to stop him while allowing all else to snag clothing and rip skin, taking a perverse pleasure in the pain that he knew would last only as long as it took him to heal.

Miles from his starting point, Scott reached his original destination and passed it, never slowing. Instead, he pushed himself even harder, chest heaving, muscles burning, heart threatening to burst from his chest.

Something was building up inside, something Scott had held back for nine days, something that had waited too long to erupt while he had perfected the art of deadening all thought, all emotion. Something he had been afraid to let loose, afraid to feel. He couldn't hold it back now and as Scott pushed himself far harder than any human could hope achieve or survive, he gathered the last of the oxygen in his body and bellowed out a primal scream that built and built until it turned into melodious howl, long and drawn out, coarse with emotion. The sound was full of things Scott could not voice with words. Grief, guilt, pain and sorrow and anger. Release.

The sound echoed throughout the preserve, bouncing off the trees and rocks, startling wildlife, echoing in the still air. It reverberated for several moments, bouncing from all directions, and as the reverberations died out so did Scott's stamina and strength. He stumbled, caught himself, then stumbled again as his legs turned to useless stumps. He landed gracelessly in the forest floor, flopping forward to lie face down, heaving for breath. His throat burned, his chest ached, his head pounded, his skin burned, his muscles were liquid. But he was lighter. Scott felt that he had released something that was poisoning him, let something out that had been keeping him from thinking clearly. Keeping him from beginning to heal inside. He was not healed yet. He knew he wouldn't be for a long time. He wasn't sure he wanted to, completely. The idea that some day he'd just be over the things that had happened, the people they had lost, tasted bitter in the back of his throat. But he had taken the first step he would need to begin to mend and rejoin life.

Scott lay in the dirt and leaves, stirring those near his face with his hot breath as he struggled to recover from his kamikaze flight through the woods. With the exception of his own efforts to recover, the woods were eerily silent around him. No insects, no birds singing or animals rustling as there had been by the highway. The smallest insects were subdued by the aggressive path he'd carved and the predatory claim of his surroundings. He'd disturbed the natural order of things and his presence was felt by the natives.

It took almost half an hour for Scott to recover and when he finally pushed himself to his feet he was surprised at how good he felt physically. Just minutes before he'd felt that he might never stand again. Even given his superb ability to heal from almost anything, he'd half expected some lasting effects for having pushed himself so hard and mercilessly. His appearance, however, was at odds to how great he felt. His clothes were almost in tatters. The wounds he must have had on his face and body had healed without a mark but had left behind streaks of blood. His hair was wild and windswept and had collected quite a lot of foliage debris, tangles of leaves and bits of twig. His face was stiff with dried tears and sweat, and probably fairly grimy by the feel of it.

None of that mattered for the moment. There would be no one to judge his appearance this deep into the woods. He was on the far side of the preserve, very close to the border of the next county. He had to backtrack a little to reach the destination he'd passed earlier in his mad run but he took it at a more reasonable pace. Once he reached the right area it took only a glance for Scott to find the waist-high boulder.

It was an unassuming chunk of stone. Nothing special about it at all, unless you looked closely. The faint scratching, made by a brother's claw, in the middle of the white stone, was one word.

Aiden.

It had been a simple ceremony. Not formal. Not legal. No attendees but his twin, who had carried his brother's body miles to reach the quiet and secluded spot, and the rest of the pack. It was ceremony, but not ritual. There was no spokesperson, no hymns, no dressy clothes. Ethan had quietly and steadily dug his brother's grave. There had been no need for words for the rest of them to know that it was not task to share. He didn't ask and they didn't offer. Their part in this ceremony was to let him have his part, to do what he needed to do.

When Ethan had done what needed doing, the wolves of the pack had assisted with moving the two ton boulder over the freshly disturbed earth. This would insure that it would not be disturbed again. Almost no words had been said. Tears and sniffles were evident, but not from the living brother. That had been the saddest thing for Scott, that Ethan was hurting so badly but not freely mourning. Or maybe he had already reached that numb state that Scott descended into by the next day. As they had slowly begun to disperse, Ethan had hung back. Scott had turned, debating on how to comfort him or if it would be welcome should he try, and he had seen Ethan using one sharp claw to etch his fallen brother's name into the stone, a permanent commemoration.

Now Scott's eyes found the etching and his finger lifted and traced the name. Scott had never told the twins they were part of the pack, but he hoped they'd known they'd earned their places. Even had Scott not felt before that they had redeemed themselves in his eyes, they had both made the ultimate sacrifices for his cause. One, his life. The other, his alternate half. They were pack.

Absently, he raised his head for a good scent, reminding himself of his purpose. When he'd first arrived he'd immediately detected the stale scents of his friends, days old, and the fresher scent of the one he was hoping to find. His original idea had been to track the scent to find his target but now, at the same moment he realized the scent was not just fresh but current, he heard the leaves behind him crunching under steady footsteps and he realized tracking would not be necessary.

Scott turned slowly. He was simultaneously reluctant and resolute. "Ethan."

"Scott. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you."

"You found me." Ethan's voice was even and dispassionate but his stance was stiff, wary.

Scott was at a loss. He'd had no idea in mind, no thoughts about what he was going to say once he found Ethan. He knew only that he was compelled to find him, quickly. He'd had the sense that if he didn't, it would soon be too late.

"How are you doing?" Scott asked now.

"Not a lot better than you," Ethan answered quietly, his stiff posture fighting to hold. Scott watched as he seemed to lose the battle and let himself soften, Ethan's shoulder's slumping incrementally. The blonde werewolf's face twisted and Scott realized with horror and sympathy that Ethan was fighting tears.

Scott was relieved when Ethan regained control and felt shame that he hadn't been automatically prepared to offer up something to make the other boy feel better. He hadn't known Ethan as long as he'd known his other friends, and tears was not something Scott felt confident in handling.

"I heard you," Ethan stated. "A little while ago. I heard your howl. I was standing here when you ran past."

Scott groped for any emotion, hearing that. He hadn't expected anyone to be out this far, although it should have made sense that Ethan might be. He hadn't expected anyone to be witness to his cathartic expression of emotion. He should have been embarrassed, maybe, but nothing surfaced. Scott felt no need to explain or excuse the actions that had followed instinct.

"It helped," he stated simply, factually.

"It helped me too," Ethan confessed unexpectedly, emotion escaping in his voice. He lowered his head, eyes trained on the forest floor. "It was like you were howling for both of us, pulling things from me and letting it go through you. I don't know..." he trailed off uncertainly. He kicked at a pile of leaves and sent them scattering. "I just know it helped," Ethan finished weakly.

Scott wasn't sure what to say to that. He settled on "Good."

"So. You said you were looking for me."

"Oh. Right." Back to that, and Scott still had no idea what he'd planned to say, what needed to be said. He decided to go with the the bare truth. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay," he admitted. "I wasn't sure you were still here, in town, but I didn't know where to find you." Scott was jolted by shame to admit that he'd never taken the time to find out where the twins had been staying since Deucalian had left. "I thought if I could get your scent here, I could find you."

"I'm okay," Ethan said unconvincingly. Scott's brow furrowed and Ethan amended "As okay as I can be right now. I've never been completely alone before."

"You're not now," Scott reminded him earnestly. "You have the pack. You _are_ part of us, you know. You _do_ know that, right?"

Ethan shrugged minutely. "I can't stay here. Where I lost him."

"You're leaving?" Scott asked mildly. He'd suspected that might be the case. He'd hoped it wouldn't be.

"I have to. I can't..."Ethan's voice broke, paused a moment for composure. "I have to learn how to be alone."

Scott knew he meant how to be without his brother, the only person that had ever been a constant in his life. He couldn't imagine losing someone so close as a twin, a being with which he'd become one with. Scott imagined that Ethan couldn't discover who he truly was until he learned how to be his own person. One person instead of two. Scott wanted to convince the other boy to stay, remind him again that they were all there for him (but were they really, while trying to put their own pieces back together?). Scott wanted to tell Ethan that maybe they had started out as enemies but they were friends now, and Scott couldn't bear to lose another friend right now.

He said none of that. Instead, he realized that he had to offer what each friend needed right now, what each member of his pack had to have from him. Right now, this was what Ethan needed, what he knew he had to do. He could let Ethan find his own peace, and while Scott didn't know if Ethan cared one way or the other for Scott's support, he decided that was what he needed to give him.

"Will you come back?" Scott asked.

"Maybe," Ethan answered thoughtfully. "Maybe. Someday."

Scott nodded, knowing he couldn't ask for an answer that promised more than that. "If you do, this is your home," Scott said fervently. "It's your home even if you don't, Ethan. Remember that, okay? Come back or don't come back, but we are your pack. Remember that we're here."

A small smile played around Ethan's mouth and he took a deep breath that heaved with repressed emotion. A small nod. "Okay. Okay, Scott. I'll remember."

Scott nodded and took a deep breath himself, as much to steady himself as to breathe easier. He felt like his load was just a bit lighter. Letting go could be as important as holding tight. He stepped forward until he was directly in front of Ethan, reaching out and laying a warm hand on the other boy's shoulder. A gentle squeeze conveyed things he couldn't say.

"Take care, Ethan. Okay? Take care of yourself."

Ethan nodded. "I will," he promised. "Do me a favor? Check in on Danny every now and then?"

Scott smiled and let his hand fall. "Will do."

"Thanks. Take care of them, Scott. They follow you for a reason. And tell everyone I say take care, will you? I'm going to say goodbye..." a nod to his brother's boulder "...and then I'm heading out."

Scott took the hint, gave a departing nod, and headed toward the trees surrounding the small clearing. Ethan would want privacy with his brother.

Scott was just beyond the clearing when Ethan's call stopped him.

"Scott!"

Scott turned to see Ethan jogging up to join him.

"Hey, listen," Ethan began, then paused for a moment. "Do you want Aiden's bike?"

Startled, Scott blinked at him. "What?"

"I can't take it with me," Ethan explained. His voice was matter of fact but tinged with sadness. "I don't have time to bother selling it. Mine was always better anyway," he said with a small smile, and Scott realized that was probably an inside joke between the brothers, "so I'd rather keep mine. You can have his. If you want it."

Scott stared at Ethan, unsure of how to respond. It was an incredibly generous offer. "No," he said finally, and Ethan's face fell. "I'll keep it for you," Scott promised and was rewarded with Ethan's face evening out in realization. "I'll hold onto it, and when you come back, because you will, you can decide what to do with it. Okay?"

Ethan nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Scott." Ethan began backing slowly toward the clearing and his brother's monument. "And you take care, too!" he called before turning around. Scott watched Ethan approach Aiden's boulder and reach out and lay his palm over the etched name before turning and walking away.

Scott didn't know exactly what had been accomplished but he knew that he'd needed to see Ethan and was grateful the werewolf hadn't yet left Beacon Hills. He wondered vaguely what Ethan had been doing for nine days and what had kept him from leaving earlier. For just a moment Scott entertained the idea that Ethan had been waiting for Scott, but dismissed that as ridiculous. Ethan had never needed Scott's approval and it wasn't likely to be a priority of his now.

Whatever it was he'd accomplished, Scott felt better for it. He felt that for the first time in nine days he'd accomplished something worthwhile. Scott broke into a run, this time maintaining a steady pace until he reached the highway and his hidden bike. Time to do some more worthwhile things.

Back in the clearing, at the unassuming chunk of rock that would forever memorialize a reluctant hero, the hero's brother let his tears fall. His heart was heavy but his spirit lighter. He could leave now. One last goodbye, and he could he leave. He didn't know why he'd felt compelled to wait for Scott to find him, why he couldn't just be on his way or even seek out the Alpha himself. But he had, and Scott had come to him, and something within Ethan felt fulfilled. Something was completed that hadn't been before. Ethan could leave now, a little more at peace. He could leave and he could discover the parts of himself he'd never had to know existed because they had always been intertwined with another. He had always been his own person, but a person with two halves, and now only one of those halves was left. He'd been both cut free and set adrift and he had to find his equilibrium. And maybe one day he could come back. When he knew who he was without his brother, when EthanandAiden was just Ethan, fully, maybe he could return to his pack.


End file.
